Tuesday, February 19, 2008

Gone, it's a conchord dawn
Lights up the skies so full of surprises
Light as a feather thief
Two hands-one clap beneath
Pastels and washed out waters
Paints of mankinds daughters
A fist full of sunset
And a pocket full of sky.

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After a busy day when confronting admin

 We must all come  Find ourselves And we will all be found Regardless  As the sun finds the morning As breath finds the lungs As I am found ...